


Pale

by neon_tophatss



Category: OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes
Genre: Erections, M/M, Masturbation, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22260673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neon_tophatss/pseuds/neon_tophatss
Summary: Laserblast was undergoing changes he never thought possible. Morals twisting and turning on their heads, Laserblast tries his best to hide growing concerns from prying eyes. Eventually however, he ends up confiding in lustful thoughts about a certain someone for comfort.
Relationships: Lad Boxman/ Laserblast, Lord Boxman/Professor Venomous
Kudos: 10





	Pale

**Author's Note:**

> Spotify ads are disgusting, but let's hope he pulls through

Laserblast's eyes dropped down to his arms in dissatisfaction. His arms, much like the rest of him, had become a jumbled mess of what was and what will be. His hair, which felt almost too long to be his own, scratched his neck ominously - causing his aforementioned arms to shiver uncontrollably. 

Things are changing.

Things are changing, one could almost haughtily observe. Although not quite the observation of a keen eye, one may argue that a more simplistic approach is all that's needed. 

Situations like this seemingly slaps one in the face. Similar to a large explosion dancing along the side of a light beige cheek.

Laserblast's eyes then dragged themselves up from his arm to the dusty reflection of the said former hero. He would debate feeling defensive or maybe even possessive of the visage before him. 

However, the cold of the mirror touching his fingertips somewhat lovingly snapped him out of his trance. 

He pulled the desaturated cloth up to cover his arms rather calmly after that.

In fact, the next hour was filled with solemn, uneasy calmness. One that boomed in your eardrums with almost annoying silence. Deafening, deft, and almost inconsiderable levels of boring white noise. 

What was the purpose of a decision so petty? What level of reasonings condone such spite? Why hide within the confines of inescapable, monochromatic walls. He'd secretly admit to himself in quiet respite that he'd see the shadows of his mistakes, friends, and beliefs dance upon those white walls dripping in guilt.

And at night he would nervously run his black nails against the dry skin of his wrist.

Presently, the somewhat unofficial professor looks up from his microscope as he feels a small droplet land against his flesh. 

The culprit of the spill (besides himself) seems to be a slightly tilted beaker. The noxious substance quickly eats away at his melanin; leaving a pale splotch in its place.

Things are changing. Things are changing and it shows on the skin like a toxic substance - bright and obvious.

Laserblast watched the clothes in the laundromat's washing machine quietly. Despite his confidence in his current appearance looking so vastly different from his original, Laserblast decided to throw on a grey hoodie. The hood snagged on his hair uncomfortably, and the cloth was too warm. He felt much like the heated clothes twirling around within one of the many drying machines that occupied the space; hot. And if you were to ask him what he would consider himself specifically as, the category no doubt would be a hot, hot mess. 

Laserblast sighed and pulled out his old phone. Not the one he had as a brave hero, mind you, but the one he had used before the world knew him. He carelessly scrolled through his music streaming app until he landed on a song that would suffice in relieving the silence he had grown so accustomed to.

Thriller by Neutral Zone Micheal Jackson blasted from his one dollar fifty cent red ear buds. He had totally stole them from Neutral Zone Family Dollar, but he doubted they would be missed. Teenagers with more money than him stole anyways, he supposed. 

Laserblast's eyes found themselves wandering down to his wrists. His wrists had become somewhat sore after last week's incident regarding his haphazardly placed chemicals. Studying his wrists he located the original splotch slowly climbing around his arm and hand. Frantically, Laserblast threw his sleeve down; hoping to repress the thoughts of his new appearance. 

He focused on the music.

Neutral Zone Micheal Jackson. Now there was an upstanding citizen. Despite a few allegations, and possible abuse as a child, he supposed MJ turned out fine. He made baller music, that's for sure. Something you could bop to whilst standing alone in a twenty four hour laundromat with stolen earbuds. Speaking of which, Neutral Zone Micheal Jackson underwent a lot of physical changes. For instance, MJ had a lot of surgery on his nose. Laserblast figured he was hoping for a smaller nose but instead was left with barely a nose at all. And the poor man's head had lit ablaze during some live performance. Laserblast could only idly imagine the looks of bewilderment and horror as a moonwalk turned into a frantic run. He almost giggled at the thought of MJ looking angrily through piles of expensive wigs indignantly. 

But his thoughts left no reprieve as Laserblast began to dwell on the more alarming and topical changes of the late pop singer. Absentmindedly rubbing his wrists, images of Neutral Zone Michael Jackson's almost alien pale skin flashed across his eyes like a projection. A slideshow of a terrifying future. Laserblast would've cried if it wasn't for the ad bargaining to give him 30 minutes of adless streaming services if he spared a glance to an especially long one.

After listening to a loud and equally annoying ad which would grant him the freedom of listening to Michael Jackson's top hits, Laserblast reached into the washing machine to pull out his load. 

People would stare, Laserblast had to remind himself when he began gyrating his hips to the beat of one of his favorite MJ songs. Billie Jean just had such an infectious rhythm, he'd argue with himself. 

With that, he threw two dryer sheets into one of the previously mentioned dryers lining the walls and pressed start.

Laser wondered what Sparks would think. How would Sparks feel knowing that her ex was doing his laundry in the midst of a depressive episode, shaking his ass to the beat of Neutral Zone Micheal Jackson.

She would definitely be disappointed. Doubtlessly, the man would agree almost complaint free on that front. 

It has barely been six minutes and Laser can still guarantee that he is a mess. 

He spared a glance at his lightening wrist antsily. Would it continue to climb up? Coating his entire body in pigment lighter than anything his mind could currently comprehend? Which makes no sense... 

Perhaps the lack thereof frightened him more. Real life white washing sure is a doozy!

Laser gave an uncharacteristic hiss before turning up the volume of his muse.

You know what? Maybe Laser was fine with becoming the real life equivalent of every Dragon Ball movie. 

You know in some ways, Laser thought lazily, he and MJ were a lot alike.

They both wanted to recreate themselves. They were viewed from the wrong light and the shadow that cascaded down from them told no lie: The viewing was from the wrong angle. They wanted to be themselves but were held down. And while rolling with the metaphorical - and perhaps literal - punches, they died. But not for real.

Neutral Zone Micheal Jackson will never die.

In some sense, Laser felt a kin to the man. Like, in some past life, he could've been him.

"I love you Michael Jackson," Laser whispered lovingly to the air, much to the dismay of the passing janitor. Said janitor eyeing the other out of some morbid curiosity.

Maybe one day Laserblast could become a flamboyant, sickly, sexy, recolored version of himself. Laserblast felt his face heat up, maybe one day he could walk past Carol without her recognizing him. Maybe this obviously dangerous chemical elixir eating away at the first layer of his flesh was a blessing in disguise...

And then Laserblast fainted from malnutrition.

"Son?" Boney hands shook the broad shoulders of our currently unconscious protagonist in concern. 

Thankfully, it only took another round of shaking for Laser to crack open a pair of lovingly styled eyes lethargically.

"Michael?" Laserblast whispered in astonishment. His freshly opened eyes fogging the image of the form in front of him.

Unfortunately, as the image sharpened, it was clear that this was just another crack addict with sickly skin - which is redundant. And also an easy mistake to make.

"You're not MJ," Laser growled tearing away from the older man's grasp. 

"No," The man shook his head in a saddened motion,"I'm Neutral Zone Johnny Depp."

Laser looked down to find a big mac placed generously in his lap. "What's this?" He scrutinized, sending his stare up to Johnny Depp.

"You looked hungry," Depp shrugged, leaning on the broomstick with a lazy smile,"Figured you'd appreciate it."

"Don't you need it. You work as a laundromat janitor, I doubt pay is good."

"Oh no; I'm rich."

Laser narrowed his eyes in confusion,"Then why did you-"

"Hookers," Depp shrugged.

And in a blink, the man was gone.

If it wasn't for the succulent meat patty resting on his lap, Laserblast would've doubted the authenticity of their interaction.

Laser unwrapped his sandwich giddily. 

While consuming every morsel, his mind couldn't help but lend itself to a creative image. Instead of reheated, greasy frozen meat - perhaps Laser could be eating a greasy, succulent, cheek of a successful pop singer.

He had never found so much enjoyment in a burger. And by the time he was done, the last load was ready to be folded and carted away.

Laser stood, discarding the Big Mac paper along the way, and opened up the large metal dryer. It squeaked in protest from years of use and sat submissively against the light blue walls.

Laser inspected his load. Each garment looking almost exactly like the last.

Once he turns lighter, Laser thinks folding another black shirt, he could buy himself grey items. The lighter shade might compliment his severe and concerning lack of melanin.

But that wouldn't be for awhile. He has his eyes set on lots of biological experiments. And fussing over what to wear will in no way aid to his research. But maybe, just maybe; Laser could invest in some gloves? Maybe even just one?

The look sounds incredibly sexy and in no way a popular look he's seeking to plagiarize. When he folds the last pair of vermillion sweatpants, Laser makes a mental note to revisit Neutral Zone Family Dollar.

Once he was home, Laserblast fought to keep the thoughts of Neutral Zone Michael Jackson out of his head. The light was spreading quickly and Laser didn't need more confusion in his life.

For one; Laser had sworn up and down that he liked girls. But yesterday, while eating that juicy hunk of beef, Laser had never felt more inclined to utter the phrase no homo. 

One time, back at POINT, Laser had jokingly done research on the psychological impacts of isolation. He locked Rippy Roo and Foxtail in the womans' locker room and conducted research through the thick metal door. 

He had a search engine open, of course. The screen maybe even flickered as he looked up the effects of isolation. 

The first day he let the two spend an hour together. And then by some luck - Laser had managed to lock only one within the unpleasant walls of the female locker rooms. It only being unpleasant because of girls natural collection of cooties.

Laserblast even blanched at the thought. 

He had once read that over three days of complete isolation could drive one to hallucinate.

Why tell you this? Why open the inner reaches of his slowly retreating mind to share its darkest secrets? 

Well, it is quite topical.

In fact, Laserblast appears to be having an adverse reaction to his recent lack of environmental stimuli. Or maybe, Johnny Depp drugged his tender meat snack. Whatever the honestly debatable case may be, Laser blast is clearly hallucinating pop star sensation Neutral Zone Micheal Jackson performing Hit or Miss.

Laser should be disgusted.

Laser should feel horrified, yet he finds his purple irises drifting down to MJ's skirt. The way the skirt catches only slight on what Laser can only describe as his personally catering gigantic bulge. It's tantalizing.

Get a grip, Laser warns, shoving an earbud back into his free ear and blasting David Bowie defiantly. Just from his peripheral, Laser can see the pale scaling his arm. He catches himself salivating at the mere thought of licking MJ's succulent pale lips. 

"Oh, Michael," Laser sighs, turning his head to ignore the hallucination,"We're really in it now."

The next morning Laserblast went to the pharmacy. Exposure to chemicals sure does do shit to your mental and physical health. He perused the large white confines of the aisles. His hands running listlessly upon each shelf. His eyes scrutinizing each box judgmentally. Perhaps his attention to, the honestly quite useless, medication that lined the walls is what caused him to bump into a somewhat familiar figure.

"Ah," Laserblast jumped,"Sorrey."

"You should be," The voice growled dramatically dusting off his outfit. 

Upon further inspection of the visage before him, it wasn't hard to recognize the man. This was most definitely Lad Boxman shopping for medication in the Neutral Zone Rite Aid.

"No really," Laserblast insisted,"It was my fault entirely."

Lad Boxman himself must've not gotten a good look at Laserblast, since his eyes widened a noticeable amount.

"Oh," Boxman stuttered as he studied Laser's chiseled features. Laser could've sworn he saw the former's face darken into a reddish hue. And he was more than positive that it was no coincidence that Boxman's hands shot straight to his crotch. 

"Excited?" Laser asked with a smirk - no doubt surmising this interaction with the many times he's imagined Michael Jackson's pale, humongous cock.

Though, Laser couldn't reserve himself too well once he'd imagined the pop singer inside of him.

"No," Boxman growled; punctuating his anger with a rough shove, before storming off into a neighboring aisle. 

However, this might've had the opposing effect. Laserblast could've sworn he felt Boxman's erection rub against his thigh.

This was a strange exchange, Laserblast would conclude. Somewhere in his mind he wondered if Michael Jackson's dick was that warm.

And then he turned to face the cosmetics wall. His hand flippantly danced along each and every beauty product before landing on cheap, black eyeshadow. With a smile he roughly shoved the eyeshadow into his pocket. 

And almost as silent as a shadow, which was somewhat validating for whatever reason, Laser was on his way back home.

Back home, Laserblast found himself stroking his dick and swooning over the late pop singer Michael Jackson. The very much aforementioned music streaming service playing nonchalantly in the background. If Laserblast could only hear the music over his own moaning, he would've easily imagined Michael singing his own name.

"Oh MJ," Laser moaned euphorically as his own cum engulfed his fist. It was so perfectly timed. The end of Thriller coincided so well with his orgasm that Laser felt a second erection forming.

However, he didn't have the time for that.

He needed to get cleaned up and he needed a cure. Laser stood up and headed for the bathroom silently.

Once he was out of his clothes, Laser could easily see the spreading of the serum that's bleaching his skin.

It climbed up from the back of his hand, to his wrist, it raced up to his shoulder, and danced between the blades. His entire arm was several shades lighter at this point. 

Laserblast tried not to think about it once he got under the water.

It's been a week of nothing but repression and masturbating to Michael Jackson. He's touched himself everywhere, and his arms lend themselves to the image of Michael doing it himself. 

On a less erotic note, the cure to his whitewashing predicament was proving to be a futile effort. Anything he did either rushed the process or left it completely unaffected. His body was barely recognizable. And the chemicals slowly climbed over his cheeks and attempted to bleach the rest of his face.

And the truth was, it was an attempt he couldn't stop.

The fading would continue idly unaware of his suffering.

How would he adjust to this new life? Laser's eyes glanced around his body in horror. He peppered his stares along the middle of his face. And he watched helplessly as the pale engulfed his face.

"Oh cob," Laser whispered tearfully. 

Who was he now?

**Author's Note:**

> :-)


End file.
